My second favorite thing to do at a bar is pull myself out of my own conversation for a minute and let my eyes and ears sort of wander over the night’s crowd. Not necessarily eavesdrop – that’d require a whole lot more effort than I’d be willing to give on a mellow night out with some friends, but just drift. Passively absorb little snippets of scenes going on around me – passages of books that aren’t mine; that aren’t even remotely on the same shelf. More often than not it all just blurs a little into that all too familiar buzz – that low drone that settles into the back of your head, leaving you subtly irked that the bar isn’t a bit quieter for the night. But sometimes you accidentally drift past something important – these little bursts of sudden significance that wouldn’t seem out of place letterboxed in between black bars on a screen.
And if you remember that moment the night after, maybe it becomes poetry.